A Sword By Any Other Name
by FoenFyre
Summary: One Harry Potter drew the sword of a mighty legend, slaying the King of Serpents in the process. Just how was this sword brought into being? And what did the legend feel when he first drew his sword?


A/N- I like thinking of how Godric must have recieved the sword. It kinda let me down when I found out the the Sword of Gryffindor was not (or had a very low chance of being) a Horcrux, and that JKR said the heirs of the founders don't matter that much to the actual plot, but I suppose she's so good because she doesn't go with the obvious ('till we figure it out.). Does anyone know why Salazar would have a locket in his possession?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or anything derived from him/it...I have this Hagrid doll though...I lost the Norbert and his umbrella a while ago... .

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A Sword By Any Other Name Would Never Pierce As Well

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The hot ironworks sprayed from the furnace and sparks lighted the simple stone cave as short figures, whose shadows made their existence known on the walls, worked laboriously on a piece of metal; a lone cloaked figure by the mouth of the cave looking on in awe. Few had ever been allowed to watch the forging that had made Goblins significant allies of the civilized magical world, but this had been an exception.

What was to be forged today was something that had been prophesied by Wizards and the few Goblin seers Goblins alike. What was to be forged today would prove to garner a myth of its own, separate from the tale of the circumstances of its creation. What was to be forged today was to be the legacy of a Wizard whose name would continue to be passed down in written history as a brave and noble warrior. The brave and noble warrior whose name would be eternally attached to that of the sword's.

The brave and noble warrior flinched as the flames in the furnace climbed steadily and unnaturally higher, reminding him that he should have heeded one of his female companion's ideas to shield himself with a Flame Freezing Charm, as was the style those days with muggles going about and setting wizards and witches afire.

His pride won out in the end, as he heard the clanging of a hammer against metal; unwilling to quail under the forces that his forged partner was being birthed under, he stood his ground, ignoring the heat that dampened his red robes and golden cloak. He stood unrelenting in the face of the inferno, maintaining his presence still--even when his hat began to protest the sweltering conditions. He paid no heed--continuing to oversee the creation of the ultimate weapon. His sword.

The sounds stopped and all that could be heard was the swish and crackling of the dancing flames as they flickered and slowed down their tempo, retreating back to slumber, to wait until they were needed again.

Darkness fell and a soft mutter revealed a wand's glowing tip held by a trembling gloved hand. The goblins stood loosely in a half-circle, their gaunt complexions and sloping frames the only reminder to the activity they had partaken in moments before. Silence now reigned.

The cloaked wizard stepped forward slowly, his leather boots' heels tapping against the hardened floor of the enclosure in a hesitant yet steady rhythm, the distinct characteristic that indicated the anxiousness in this single endeavor.

What was forged today was to be a golden sword encrusted with rubies and inscribed with one name.

The bearer of this one name did nothing for a few moments but gape at the creation that had been borne from metal, sweat, and flame--that is, until this bearer struck out his hand quickly to grab its pallid metallic colored hilt before it could possibly leave him, intricate designs wrought into its visage and whispering hauntingly of a mysterious beauty.

A blazing look, rivaling the inferno in intensity and emotion focused itself on one point of the sword's blade as he raised it to his crystal blue eyes. What was located there was not taken lightly by a wizard of any class, its legend passed on from the days of Merlin and his protégé's sword once called Excalibur.

He nipped his thumb (his right hand gloved as it was holding his rather temperamental wand-wands this quality were rather new and yet untested) sharply with his teeth, bringing blood which soon dripped and pooled in his palm. Smearing what he could over the engraving, he waited for a sign of the sword accepting his blood-oath, the oath that would tie the sword to him and only him, as usually was done of most enchanted swords. A ringing and haunting melody erupted all around them suddenly; reminding the brunette faintly of a song he had heard long ago…--it echoed around the cave, remaining even long after the original melody had stopped.

A flash of light brought him out of his stupor, and as his eyes locked on to the magnificent weapon he held in his hands. It glowed gold and crimson, his favorite colors, he mused brokenly as he drank in the sight of the golden and ruby encrusted sword. He turned it over in his hands, looking for what he had previously tarnished with his blood. His search came to a stop all of a sudden as his twinkling eyes caught yet again what he thought had eluded him. One whisper echoed through-out the cave, mixing in with the haunting melody that had brought even his hats annoying murmurs to an end.

"Godric Gryffindor"

And so the sword's engraving remained, not to be erased by another, to be forever his creation, watching over the future of the world, and going to aid the heirs of his role as protector. One to be found 1000 years later.

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"Only a true Gryffindor would be able to pull this sword out of the hat."  
-Albus Dumbledore, Chamber of Secrets


End file.
